Woke Up, Dreaming
by JeanTre16
Summary: Jacqueline's dream leads her to reconsider her relationship with d'Artagnan.
1. Chapter 1

**Woke Up, Dreaming**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 1

Wake Up, Jacqueline!

Once again, Jacqueline woke up to begin the daily routine in the garrison of the Royal Musketeers. It had been seventeen years now since that first fateful day she had donned the sleek grey and blue uniform. Presently, she found herself putting it on without much notice. It had become routine, including the binding.

Washing her face and taking care of her personal hygiene while dozens of other males were doing the same also had become common place to her. She was a Musketeer like she had always dreamt of being when she was a child.

"Good morning Ramon," Jacqueline greeted the shirtless man as he washed his face. "Better watch those seconds," she teased. "Looks like you're putting on a little weight, eh?" Her voice had become so accustomed to the manly inflections that it rarely drew attention from the others. It was true that she would never grow facial hair, but then, she had lived among men for so long that she had made up for her lack of masculine looks in other ways.

"You know, Jacques—" the Spaniard finally responded, after drying his face off with a towel "—you're all heart." Even the man who knew her identity treated her no differently than the other Musketeers, despite the fact that he had discovered her gender almost fifteen years prior. "You really should watch it your self." He candidly pointed out. "I've noticed you've been moving a little slower these days. How about a morning workout before breakfast? I bet this growing gut could beat your widening derriere." He stood there with his hands on his stomach, awaiting her response.

"You know I would, Ramon, but I already have a standing drill with the boss," she sassed back.

"If you're talking about d'Artagnan, I think you should reconsider my offer," her male friend informed her. "He's off with Dorine in the country again."

"Rats!" Jacqueline spat. "That woman is making a domestic out of him."

"Si." Ramon looked reflectively at this woman who had become so hardened over the years. "That's a horrible thing for a wife to do to her husband."

"So—" Jacqueline changed the subject "—I heard Siroc opened a little repair shop across town. Would you be interested in taking a ride over there to visit him?"

"Now that's an offer I'll take you up on," agreed Ramon. "I'll see you in the stables after breakfast."

"Later," the woman replied with a gristly voice as she walked out.

ooOOoo

Shortly after the usual meal, Jacqueline saddled her mare up for the ride across town. This was the fourth horse she had been through during her tenure as a Musketeer. Her prior three had been put to pasture. Roget thought that she herself would have been put to pasture had it not been her boss' promise those many years ago to watch out for a dead man's sister. He had kept his promise, too. There was a time he had flirted with her endlessly, but she had held her ground. "Those were the days," she said to herself softly.

"What were the days?" asked the Spaniard, approaching another horse with a saddle.

"Oh, nothing, Ramon," Jacqueline husked. "Just reminiscing those days when d'Artagnan would raze on me for hours."

"Si, Senorita." The tall man nodded with a tired smile. "You were a fiery young lady back then."

"Yep," the roughened woman breathed out as she pulled the cinch tighter. "I took care of that, didn't I?" Thinking better of what she had said, and not wanting to begin another dead-end conversation with her long-standing comrade, she replied curtly, "Never mind, don't answer that. Let's get going."

De la Cruz and Leponte exited the stables and made their way across town. As they plodded along, a man suddenly darted out of a shop, waving at them and frantically pointing them in the direction of a fleeing man. "Thief! Thief! Musketeers, stop that thief!" the vendor cried for their help.

"Here we go," responded Jacqueline, glancing over her shoulder to her partner. The two riders prompted their horses to pick up the pace, and as quickly as possible they went off after the man. Catching up to the running thief, the woman on horseback leaned over to grab him as she rode by. But her weakening grip gave way on the saddle and she lost her hold on the horse. Instead of apprehending the thief, she went crashing into a cart of hay piled on the side of the street. The careening woman hit hard and began to lose consciousness. Everything went blank.

ooOOoo

Then, as quickly as she had passed out, it seemed she was awakening to the voice of someone calling her name. "Jacqueline, Jacqueline. Wake up."

"Huh?" she muttered, trying to make sense of the voice she was hearing. "Is that you d'Artagnan?"

"Wake up Jacqueline," the voice repeated.

She opened her eyes and looked around, quite disoriented. There she was, just as she remembered, lying in a pile of hay, but the man before her was a young d'Artagnan. "Where am I?" she said, still trying to clear her head.

"We're out on patrol and we stopped to rest." He gestured at her current position. "You fell asleep." Her comrade looked at her in puzzlement, wondering the source of her strange question. "You appeared to be having a nightmare so I thought I'd wake you up."

"Whoa!" she whispered, rubbing her forehead. "That was all a dream?" She tried to sit up, but felt light-headed and lay back again.

"Apparently it wasn't a very good one either," he added in perplexed amusement. "Mind if I ask what it was about?"

Habit almost caused her to make a quick come back to make him leave her alone, but then she recalled her dream. From her reclined bed of hay she intently looked up at him and made an attempt to reply, "I had a dream that I woke up…dreaming." She wasn't exactly sure how to explain to him that she had dreamt of waking up one morning, seventeen years in the future, and that things had turned out rather disturbing to her.

D'Artagnan looked at her quizzically and laughed softly. "I have no idea what you just said. But maybe you'd like to join me by the fire and start over. The night is still young and we have a long shift to fill." He offered her his hand to help pull her up from the hay.

The guarded woman hesitated for a moment, and then decided she would take his hand to accept his offer. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to.

As they walked over to the fire, he asked her, "Have you ever taken a ride out to the country in the spring? I hear it's beautiful this time of year. Would you like to join me on our next day off?"

Jacqueline did not answer, but she promised herself she would think about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Woke Up, Dreaming**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 2

Conversations

Standing in the center stall of the stables, Jacqueline tended to her horse while having a silent conversation with her self. This was d'Artagnan and her rotation day off and she could not get her mind off the dream she had the prior week. From the day that Captain Duval had accepted her into the Musketeers, she had thought of little else than being a soldier; the dream served as a rude reminder that there may be other things of importance in her future she was leaving out. And for some reason, when she considered what could possibly follow up her service to France's king, she could not help thinking of this handsome cad that riddled her for attention. Since their night patrol, when her comrade had asked her to join him for a ride in the country, she had not been able to put his proposition out of her thoughts. Oh, the man had a way to make a casual remark and leave her going around in circles with it for days. It drove her crazy!

It bothered her even more that he had simply not said another word to her about it after he first asked. She had assumed he most likely had forgotten his off-handed invitation, since she had never given him an answer. Or even worse, he may have regretted letting it slip from his mouth in the first place. Suddenly, she stopped her wandering thoughts with a shake of her head. Closing her eyes, she wondered in disbelief, 'Oh, why am I having these conversations with myself?' An exasperated Jacqueline distracted her overactive mind by saying aloud, "He probably just forgot."

"Forgot what?" a familiar voice came from the lounge doorway, behind where she stood.

Chills ran up Jacqueline's spine as she spun around to see d'Artagnan standing there holding his tack. There was only one thing she hated worse than the conversations the man made her have with herself, and that was his knack for showing up when she least wanted him to. She had been working in the stables for an hour now, and the only thing she had said all morning, he had walked in on. His sudden appearance made her pulse rate go up and her stomach feel queasy. The man could make her paranoid!

Walking past her toward his horse in the outside stall, he casually replied, "If you're referring to my asking you to join me for a ride in the country today, no, I haven't forgotten. I just didn't want to pressure you." Placing his saddle on his mount, he glanced back over his shoulder at her and added considerately, "I figured you might appreciate it if I left you alone to think about it."

There, he had done it again. Following him with her gaze, she wondered, 'Does the man read my mind?' She could have been talking about a million things, but, no, he had known exactly what she had meant. Of course he did not know that, but she knew it, and that was bad enough. Plus, he was being so nice about it. With his back safely toward her, Jacqueline pouted and wondered what made her so vulnerable, to divulge all her most guarded secrets to this man. Oh, he was frustrating!

Not wanting him to turn around and see her eyes watching his every move, Jacqueline returned her attention to stroking her horse's mane. If he had such a keen ability to know what she was thinking, she certainly did not want him to know she was flustered by it. She remained silent.

Both Musketeers worked alongside each other without a word for a time. Finally, saddled and ready, the dark bay was led out of his stall by its handsome rider. After feeding the reins over the horse's head, d'Artagnan paused reflectively, and looked up at Jacqueline in sincerity. "I'll tell you what. I'll stop to pick up enough provisions for two. If you decide you want to join me, meet me in the glade in an hour."

Reflexively, Jacqueline threw her shoulders back and retorted, "What, and ruin your plans for wooing some poor country farm girl today?" The words had slipped out of her mouth before she realized how pointedly they had come back in her own face. 'Great!' she thought to herself, 'I just neatly managed to draw a picture of my own farm-girl identity.' Mentally, she slapped herself for saying such a thing. What was the man thinking of now? To avoid him possibly picking up on her reddening color, she briefly turned her face from him. Oh, how did he always manage to fluster her so?

Without a word, d'Artagnan nudged his horse on with a clicking of his tongue, and gave Jacqueline a raised-corner-of-his-mouth caddish sort of smile.

As soon as his horse had cleared the stable door, Jacqueline's mouth dropped open as she let out a sigh of relief. What was the man thinking now and why had he given her that smile? She imagined. Had she been right in assuming he was hoping for a romp with some disillusioned country girl who would swoon and grovel at a few intimate moments alone with the son of the legendary d'Artagnan? Did he enjoy playing with her mind and putting thoughts in her head, all the while knowing she would never consent to go with him? Oh, the man worked on her!

Jacqueline stopped when she realized she was having conversations with herself again. "That's it! I'd be crazy to consider joining him on his little excursion," she voiced with agitated determination. And with that Jacqueline slapped the brush down on the wooden beam and stomped out of the stable to retreat to her room.

ooOOoo

A half an hour later, Jacqueline was packed and mounted on her horse, headed for the glade.

As she made her way through the Parisian streets to the outskirts of the city, she again began to doubt her rash decision to meet up with d'Artagnan. "How did I talk myself into this?" she questioned in disbelief. "I must be completely crazy." Jacqueline had to admit though, the idea of spending the day in the pristine countryside once again, did appeal to her. It was a splendid day for such a ride and she would be better off not going alone. But she wondered if the beauty of the countryside or even the protection of a companion had been the real motivation for her acceptance of his offer. The poignancy of her dream still filled her thoughts. Denial set in, and she shook her head. No, she knew she still had wanted posters being circulated with her picture on it. Of course it was much safer for her to take a ride with a companion than alone. 'Safer? A woman, safe, alone with d'Artagnan?' Now there was a questionable thought she surmised.

Nearing the wooded region beyond the city she picked a twig off a tree and twirled it as she thought. He had all the women of Paris wooing over him. What one of those Parisian ladies would not give to be in Jacqueline's saddle today! But the principled woman simply refused to be that shallow when it came to a man. She was more interested in a man who would respect her noble ambitions and dreams. She thought, 'Hasn't d'Artagnan been all that for me lately? Haven't I seen a side of this outwardly handsome man that other women have not?' In truth, the more time she had spent with him, the more she had uncovered a very different layer than the one Parisian ladies saw. D'Artagnan had become her friend and companion. Then why was she so distraught over this and why was she still having conversations with herself over this man. Oh, how did he manage it?

"After all," Jacqueline spoke aloud, "I'm just going for a ride in the country with him. I'm not going to meet him at the church and marry him." She directed her thoughts to something Gerard had teased her with almost two years ago. Her brother had once commented to her that a boat ride with their neighbor's son was not a life-time commitment to the boy. "You don't have to tell him you're going to marry him. Why can't you go and just have a nice time?" Gerard was right. She was not on her way to marry d'Artagnan; she was just going for a ride in the country with him. Oh, then why did her stomach feel so tight over the whole thing?

In conversation, Jacqueline had covered the distance between the stable and the glade in no time. It was too late for her to change her mind now. She stopped her horse to see d'Artagnan looking at her from the open, grassy area in the woods. Her heart pounded at the sight of him. For a moment, they both sat there, unmoving. Then she flicked the twig she held in her hand to the ground and beckoned her horse forward. "What kind of provisions did you pick up?" Jacqueline muddled through the awkwardness, deciding that spending the day in conversation with d'Artagnan was a better alternative than having to continue in the conversations she was having with herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Woke Up, Dreaming**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 3

Countryside Ventures

Warm blue skies, strung with wispy clouds, went on endlessly in the French countryside. D'Artagnan led their trek though sunny vineyards and endless seas of green landscape. Animals scurried about building their spring nests to an orchestra of birdsong. Jacqueline held her head back, with face up toward the sun, and closed her eyes. One deep breath held a mirth of spring's vibrant bouquet—hay seedlings, farm animals, tree blossoms, grasses, and the moist earth. For a moment, she had almost forgotten the company she was in.

"Enjoying the ride?" D'Artagnan broke into her privacy. He had been riding in silence next to her, studying her for some time. Though clothed as a man, her extended feminine neckline did not go unnoticed by her admirer.

Opening her eyes, Jacqueline saw the enjoying gaze of the man riding a short distance from her. "I was until you interrupted." Not liking to admit it, she had actually felt comfortable enough around him to let her guard down. She silently corrected herself for the slip.

Smirking at her comment, he looked back to the path before them. "I hate to interrupt your sunning session, but I'm getting hungry and we should think about stopping for lunch soon." His playful gaze went back to her, awaiting a reply.

Knowing he was teasing her womanly behavior, she tossed the sentiment back to him in questioning, "Why do men always think of a trip in terms of meal stops?" Jacqueline really did not expect an answer. Then realizing the empty feeling in her own stomach, she remembered that in her diverted attention over d'Artagnan in the stables that morning, she had rushed out without eating. Lunch began to sound like a good idea. Uncertain what he had in mind for their stop, she gave him a suspicious look from the side of her eyes before succumbing to his suggestion. "Well, all right. Then let's find a place to stop—preferably not under a tree still dropping pollen."

As it turned out, Jacqueline's caution, with regard to her companion's intent toward her, came to nothing. In searching for a place to stop, they spotted a young farm girl digging a hole. Seeing the sight, the female on horseback groaned. She could see what was coming a mile away, and felt completely helpless to stop it from happening. The woman rider watched the shoveling girl stop to wipe her forehead and sob. She had obviously been toiling heavily at the task and seemed rather upset. Jacqueline stole a look at her partner to see his reaction to the attractive girl who stood in the ditch. Alarmingly, the feminine comrade tried to check the unwarranted jealousy she felt rising in her heart when she saw the handsome man's eyes glued forward. "Maybe we shouldn't bother her. We could take an alternate route," she quickly suggested, interrupting his thoughts. Oh, how this man vexed her!

D'Artagnan's response didn't disappoint her, although he was completely unaware that he had risen to the occasion. "That poor girl looks like she's digging a grave and would no doubt appreciate our help," he presumed. "We could always grab a bite while we stop and help." His pleading eyes begged to have their way.

Not liking the idea, but seeing d'Artagnan so fixed on stopping, Jacqueline nodded and rode along with his lead. If the man insisted on being a cad, she realized that all the feelings in her heart for him would never change him. It was best for her to let him be himself, and get it over with. Sighing, she also realized that since she still wore her 'Jacques' clothing, stopping to talk with this woman would mean she would have to put up her masculine front. Aside from still wearing men's clothing, she had hoped for a day off from the pretense.

Seeing that Jacqueline was not too keen on his idea, and having no understanding of why, he reproved her. "Come on, Jacques, the woman's working alone. She's probably lost her father and has no one but us to give her a hand with his burial. I'm sure you, of all people, could find some compassion for her on that account. There's no need to be jealous, my intentions are noble. I just want to offer the poor girl some help."

Jacqueline rolled her eyes. "Jealous, you wish." She hoped his statement was simply a stab in the dark and a natural reflection of is inflated ego, because it had hit disturbingly close to the mark. The irritated traveler wondered if her comrade felt that all women should be jealous for him. The thought made her angry. And besides that, he had called her _Jacques_ while they were alone. If that didn't prove that he only saw her as 'one of the guys' from the garrison, what would? But hadn't she given him the impression that's what she wanted of him? Oh, but why then did the man have to make everything she did or did not say revolve around him? Why couldn't he just leave her alone? The paradoxical behavior upset her. And noble, she further thought, why did the man think everything he did was so chivalrous? He felt he had to save every maiden in distress, often to backfire in his own face. Jacqueline would have thought all these ironies humorous had they not been so far away from home. She had come on this ride to relax and had no inkling for trouble today. "You really don't know what she's doing, you know," she said, in one last attempted diversion.

Giving her a frown, he reproved, "Stop being so disrespectful to the dead." Clicking his tongue, he put his horse into a canter to cover the ground between them and the girl. Reaching the site, d'Artagnan slowed his horse to a stop, dismounted and loosely tied the reins on a low tree branch. "Excuse me, Mademoiselle," he made his noble introduction. "I am d'Artagnan and this is my companion, Jacques."

Still standing in the hole, the girl made a slight curtsey and shyly replied, "Good day, I am Collette." She obviously had not anticipated company and her discomfort showed at their sudden appearance. She made a quick attempt at neatness by wiping her tear streaked face in her dirty dress sleeve and by trying to collect her hair neatly behind her head.

In his smooth way, d'Artagnan took it upon himself to make her feel at ease. "Jacques and I noticed your hard labor and agreed to give you aid." The man giving the speech looked back at Jacqueline. "Didn't we?" He emphasized the 'we.'

"Hmm." Jacqueline offered in short and looked away, not really saying anything for sure. She did not appreciate d'Artagnan pulling her into his display of chivalry. She decided to participate as little as possible. Remaining in her saddle, she allowed her horse to graze on the sweet spring grass.

"How kind of you, but it really is not necessary," the young girl timidly replied. She brushed a deviant strand of hair to the side of her perspiring brow and looked back and forth between the two of them, unsure what to make of their intrusion.

Her resistance only made d'Artagnan more determined, "But we insist. Now, Jacques will share our lunch provision with you and I will continue your labor." D'Artagnan took the shovel from the girl's hand, and ushered her out of the hole to join Jacques. He shot Jacqueline a stiff gesture for her to stop being rude and get down off her horse to offer lunch. When she reluctantly did so, he removed his jacket and shirt, and began to dig.

Jacqueline and Collette perched, back to back, on a nearby boulder. 'Jacques' broke off a piece of bread and handed it to the still hesitant woman. Both sat and nibbled on their lunch in silence. Jacqueline noticed how Collette began to admire d'Artagnan working. The female dressed as a man, crossed her arms and took another bite of bread. She thought, 'Was there a woman the man did not know how to attract?' She had to admit, he was smooth.

"I find it rewarding to aid in such solemn tasks as the one we find you in today," d'Artagnan felt the need to articulate. "Someone as young as you should never have to bear this kind of burden alone." He spoke as though he were trying to impress an audience.

'Boy—' Jacqueline silently scoffed '—d'Artagnan's pouring it on thick.' But, Roget could not help noticing how he seemed to be talking for her benefit, not Collette's. Was he trying to impress her with his subtle way of saying he was there to support her in her own bereavement of family? The distracted picnicker wondered. In actuality, the forward man had been presumptuous about the whole reason Collette was there digging that hole. Was his reasoning clouded by her own recent loss of her brother? Stingingly so, the woman in jealous denial realized she had been just as presumptuous about his intentions toward the farm girl. Maybe his actions were purely noble. The young girl's growing look of oddity at her assister's last comment distracted Jacqueline from her personal line of thought. Looking closely at the girl's expressions, she began to suspect the knight in shinning armor may have been completely off in his assumption.

D'Artagnan rambled on as he dug. "I apologize for our intrusion, but I assure you, this is the proper thing to do. We only want to be of help. It is our duty to be here in your time of need. If there is anything more we can do, just ask." He dug for a while longer, until the hole was nearly deep enough for even the largest of caskets.

Suddenly, a shrill voice was heard from the distance that made all three of them stop what they were doing in alarm. "Collette! Is that you talking with that Renoir boy over there?" Whoever it was that was headed their way, they did not sound friendly.

"That's papa!" Collette exclaimed with panic. "If he finds you two here, he'll shoot you." She jumped up from the boulder and approached her substitute laborer in the pit.

"Papa?" D'Artagnan looked at her with a confused look, and gestured at the gravesite. "I thought…" But before he had time to finish, he was interrupted.

"Quick!" Collette hastily explained, in great duress. "Papa found me with Francois last night, and he's punished me by making me dig this septic pit." Looking at the sleek, muscular man in the pit, the young girl momentarily forgot the approaching danger and swooned. "I have to admit, I have never seen such dedication before in digging a dump, but I'd hate to see you shot over it. You better leave."

Jacqueline rolled her eyes as she witnessed the sight. D'Artagnan and she needed no more prompting. The half clad man jumped out of the dump and grabbed his clothing while Jacqueline shoved the remains of their provision into his bag. Both quickly mounted their horses and rode off in a stiff gallop. A single gunshot could be heard echoing over the tree tops in their wake. "Great, d'Artagnan," Jacqueline angrily retorted when they finally stopped, "we're shot at over digging a garbage pit!" Shaking her head she forcefully exclaimed, "D'Artagnan, you are vexing!" And she was convinced that only she had any idea of just how vexing he was.

The afflicted woman left a shirtless, speechless, dumbfounded d'Artagnan sitting there, and coaxed her horse on toward a man working in a distant field. "Hey, where are you going?" d'Artagnan called after her, wondering the source of her intense verbal lashing. He expected her to be upset, but somehow, he felt there were deeper issues behind the swell of her flared response.

"To ask that man over there directions," she retorted angrily over her shoulder.

"Directions?" He looked surprised and forgot about his suspicion of Jacqueline's feelings. "We don't need directions." Bringing his horse in line with hers, he pulled his shirt over his head.

Trying not to notice his shirtless form, she kept her horse steadily moving along, and accused, "Just like a man, reluctant to stop and ask directions." When he was fully clothed again, she looked at him and asked, "Can you tell me exactly where we are and the most direct route back to Paris?" When d'Artagnan looked around at their location and came up with a lost look on his face, Jacqueline said, "I thought not." She gave him a just-try-and-stop-me look and loped off in the direction of the man in the field. Not understanding or trusting her raw emotions, she decided to focus her efforts on getting home.

When d'Artagnan caught up with Jacqueline, the farmer was telling her that there were only two ways back from where they presently were. The man was slow talking and did not offer a lot of detail. "One way is the way you came from, which is longer." He paused and pointed in another direction, "The second way is to cross the river…" The farmer thought for a moment, shook his head, and raised a finger of caution. "However, I will warn you, be careful where you cross."

When the field-worker offered no further explanation, the couple on horseback looked at each other doubtfully. Deciding they needed to work this out between the two of them, Jacqueline put on a masculine face and turned to the farmer. "Thank you, Monsieur," Jacques offered. And the couple rode off a short distance to discuss their options. Not knowing exactly what the local meant by, 'be careful where you cross,' but deciding they had already lost too much time as it was, they decided they had no choice but to take the shorter route across the river.

Reaching the riverbank, they chose a place that looked relatively calm and began to cross. Everything seemed to be going fine, and then suddenly both horses stepped into a deep underwater ravine and plunged into the icy spring water. D'Artagnan and Jacqueline held on to their horses and swam across the quick flowing current. Holding tightly to their well-trained mounts, they were up and out of the water with speed. But their clothing was completely compromised by their dunking. Making it to the other side, the two of them stood there looking at one another—soaked, shivering, and breathing heavily from the cold physical workout. They realized that nightfall was almost upon them and that they would never make it back to the garrison tonight in their present condition.

Seeing her companion wet and miserable, Jacqueline closed her eyes and shook her head. It seemed like an 'I told you so' situation. But the justified female did not rub it in—despite the fact that she felt they were in their predicament because of d'Artagnan's male pride. Turning to her horse, she actually remained rather calm about it and most willing to let the subject drop.

Shivering, d'Artagnan watched with curiosity as she reached into her saddle pack and pulled out a spare set of clothing. His face lit up in envy. Jacqueline had not only thought to pack a change of clothes, the material had also somehow managed to stay dry in the whole ordeal. Realizing that it was a dress she removed from the pack, he teased, "I wonder why you packed a dress, were you saving it for me and a special occasion?" With teeth chattering, he still found it within himself to raise the corner of his mouth and reveal his characteristic d'Artagnan grin.

Oh, how that annoyed her. 'Did the man never lose his spirit?' she thought. "Yes," she sarcastically replied with growing intensity, "In the event that we were to get lost, soaked and stranded in the middle of nowhere because of your arrogant pride in not wanting to ask for directions sooner, I wanted to impress you by looking pretty." By the time she was finished speaking, she was hot with temper.

D'Artagnan looked slightly taken back by her onslaught of words and perturbed mannerism, but gallantly turned her words to his favor. "You see. I knew you had a soft and warm spot in your heart for me." Then noticing it was her farm work clothes that she often packed while out on furlough, he criticized, "It's not exactly the high fashion you packed for your English boyfriend, but the thought was nice." In the heat of their exchange, excitement warmed his veins, and he forgot his drenched discomfort. She was lovely, even in the state she stood in. How this woman had a way of making him forget his own needs.

Jacqueline spun around in blind irritation at his infringement on her choice of attire, oblivious to the warmth in his gaze. "What did you expect, something more décolleté?" she shot back, insinuating the kind of woman she believed him to be interested in.

Still with his eyes glued to her invigorating beauty, he answered, in keeping with his flirtatious demeanor, "I could give you a few suggestions of what I like when we're free to shop in Paris next time."

"Never mind d'Artagnan, I know what you'd like." And thinking she knew, she vowed to herself she would never stoop to that level. A hot-headed Jacqueline closed up her saddle-bag and turned to face him, with dress in hand. She was angry at him for making her feel aloof in regards to her modesty and it showed.

"You see, I knew you cared," his reply certainly not matching up to the rejection he was receiving. It was as if he could see right through the game they had honed over the months they had known each other, and had seen right through to her heart. Why else would she be so upset at him? She was frightened and he could sense it.

Breathing heavily, Jacqueline stopped and noticed for the first time the softness in his countenance. Uncertain what to make of it, she scoffed and hastily walked off with her dress to find the nearest recluse to change in. She would not continue this invasive conversation on her modesty with d'Artagnan—no matter what kind of look he gave her. Why did he have to turn everything she did or said to make it sound as if they had a romantic relationship, when it was clearly platonic? Why did he make her feel as though she was his girl, when she was not?

As she changed, she thought how she could never know what was around the corner with this man. Uninvited, a thought suddenly occurred to her and made her pause, half unclothed. Had he not accepted the same raw elements of the unknown regarding her particulars? She had come with a few surprises attached as well—a few secrets. Feeling a sudden chill, she was reminded of her wet clothes that still clung to her body, and resumed her speedy change.

'We'd make quite a hopeless pair,' she thought. The last thought gave her goose bumps and made her frown. "Pair?" she whispered, quizzically. She shook the thought off and humored herself as she slipped into her dry shirt. 'Let's say he was interested in me for more than a passing conquest, he'd be crazy to pursue me. I'm a wanted murderess, posing as a man in a Musketeer garrison! How's that for having odds stacked up against us?' she surmised. 'But,' she thought as she pulled her dry dress over her head, 'supposing we did _risk _being a pair. Our relationship would not exactly possess the most desirous qualities in two people, but it would set the stage for adventure.'

The idea played itself out in her thoughts. '_If_ we actually were a pair,' Jacqueline entertained, 'life would certainly not be dull between the two of us.' She caught herself smiling, and quickly checked herself. Then with furrowed brow, she flippantly considered the predictability she foresaw in her dream last week. Frighteningly so, the potential venture certainly seemed more enticing than the alternative.


	4. Chapter 4

**Woke Up, Dreaming**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 4

Campfire Fears

Due to the extenuating circumstances of the day's events, d'Artagnan and Jacqueline found themselves too far from the garrison to make it back that evening. The soaked, hungry and tired excursionists resigned to camp for the night.

Unlike the feminine traveler, who was off changing into something dry, d'Artagnan would remain drenched until the clothes on his back dried. While the prudently prepared mademoiselle donned her dress, the shivering male made haste to build a campfire. By the time Jacqueline had returned to the camp site, the flames had leapt up to produce a radiant flow of heat. She spread her wet clothing in an advantageous spot near the blaze and watched her co-adventurer unpack enough provisions for an evening meal.

He glanced up briefly, allowing his eyes to dance over her changed appearance, and then returned to his work at hand. "I'm glad _you're_ comfortable," he declared with a lilted voice. A smile covered his face at the thought of her feminine look. And she had let her hair down, too. Although he was sure she would say she had done so, merely to let it dry.

A much drier Jacqueline intriguingly studied her still very wet partner as she took up a seat near the fire. "I am, thank you," she returned his comment with pertness. In the oddly precarious scene before her, she found herself admiring the man and smiled lightly. Although d'Artagnan was completely uncomfortable in his soaked clothes and had not planned to spend the night in camping—at least not that she suspected—he was a Musketeer, through and through. She was thankful that he had been prepared for contingencies in regards food and that he had already built a nice fire. The observing female could not help wondering though, if the presumptuous man had also secretly acquired some extravagance that morning, in hope of impressing her, should she decide to join him. If so, she thought, with her smile turning to a frown, that he was probably thanking himself about now that he had. The unpredictable paradoxes in this man continuously drove her to second-guess his intentions. Guardedly, she looked up at him as he approached the fireside with their fare.

"I'd have prepared something more romantic if I had more time, but if you're as hungry as I am, I believe this will do." He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm not half the cook you are. And I still say that hen you prepared on our last time camping out would be enough to lure any man in." He raised his brow in a teasing manner, left the platters by her, and went back to the pack for napkins and mugs.

Without saying a word, she threatened him with squinted eyes for his suggestion that she use her cooking skills to bait a man. Consequentially, still fresh on her mind was the alarming realization that such a venturesome future with d'Artagnan actually appealed to her. With that thought, she shot him another curious glance to his back. Oh, she hoped he could not read her mind now, like he had seemingly done so in the stables that morning. Jacqueline knew she tread on dangerous ground with entertaining the thoughts she was having.

It wasn't that she didn't find him attractive, she did. But she knew a relationship was built on much more than that—at least one that lasted. She wrestled with his flirting constantly, but had never taken his advances seriously. What made her think she could ever take them seriously? His womanizing behavior made her doubt his sincerity. When they first met, he had said he never complemented a woman insincerely, but she had seen the shallowness in his understanding of women. She doubted he'd ever taken a woman seriously before. But the last time they ended up camping overnight, he confessed he had given thought of them ending up together. Did that show a change of heart in him? Had she been the first woman he had actually considered a future with?

Yet, the future he had previously considered with her was not the one Jacqueline wanted with a man. When the highwayman's baby had been in his care, had he only entertained a future with her because he believed the infant was his own child out of wedlock? Maybe he had been fond of her at the time, and his intentions of leaving the Musketeers to raise his own child may have been noble; yet, she had the distinct feeling that he pitied her masquerading as a soldier and thought he was doing her a favor in offering a farm girl a shining opportunity at his reduced fortune. Had he figured she would be thrilled to marry the great d'Artagnan's son? If so, that was egotistical of him and certainly not on the grounds she wanted to marry someone—as a consolation prize. She could never accept a marriage offer on those terms.

Jacqueline had felt a twinge of pain that morning, when he stood outside the garrison, ready to leave, but she supposed it to be her grieving the loss of the man he could have been as a Musketeer. The thought had never occurred to her that it could have been her own void she felt in losing him. Besides, her dreams of being a servant of the king had overshadowed any consideration of a relationship at that time. But now, in retrospect, she wondered.

D'Artagnan returned to lay a napkin in her lap and set the mugs down beside the fire. Opening the flask, he poured its content into their two mugs while Jacqueline watched, wondering what his choice of drink would be. He offered her a mug and she took a sip, expecting it to be the red wine he always teased her about picking up for their romantic rendezvous. But her face lit up with surprise when the flavor hit her palate. "Wait a minute. This is cold coffee!" she exclaimed, and took another sip. "It has cream and sweetener in it, too. This is excellent," she offered, and looked at him with approval.

"What did you think it was going to be?" he asked, pausing to frown. Then, distracted with the excitement of a child's new discovery, he went on to explain. "Siroc made some up the other night for our patrol. He's been working on a little variety, besides water, for our late night patrols. You know…something to drink when you can't stop to brew coffee over a hot fire." Pleased at her approval, he smiled at her and added, "I'm glad you like it. I asked Siroc if he wouldn't mind, that I'd like to be the one who tested it out on you. I've been looking forward to seeing what you'd think of it."

"Well, I like it very much, thank you," she replied in genuine approval. She was tickled about his enthusiasm of her liking something as simple as cold, creamy, sweetened coffee. His thoughtfulness of wanting to be the one to introduce her to it was also touching. Oh, she thought, pleasantly smiling as she took another sip, what was she going to do with this man?

D'Artagnan pleasurably watched her enjoy her drink for a moment, and then suddenly remembering his manners, he got up to retrieve another flask. "Here, let me get some more. I had Siroc make up extra this morning—" he looked back at her in seriousness as he went over to his pack "—on a hunch." By his apologetic face, he was confessing he had anticipated her joining him even before he had run into her in the stables.

She shook her head lightly at his confession and wondered again, 'What will I do with him?' Her thoughts went back to her childhood dreams of being a Musketeer and how they had not taken into consideration much of a future beyond exciting rescues and dashing swordfights. Putting her mug down, she somberly thought about her changing thoughts that had come with her dream the other night while on patrol. There was nothing wrong with her noble dreams, but maybe she wasn't meant to live them alone. Maybe she could make concession, by somehow including him in those dreams. The thought warmed her as the firelight flickered on her smiling face.

Staring at the fire, her mind wandered back to yet another night around a campfire—back to their "almost kiss." He had stopped her, saying she didn't mean it then, but would someday. Jacqueline wasn't sure what he meant by that then and she still wondered. Her smile turned to furrowed brow, in pondering. What made her want to kiss him that night? Was it the ambiance of the fire and friendly conversation? Or had she been moved by the thought of him nobly coming to her aid without knowing why? With a start, she realized how close she had been to crossing the line that she had lain in regard to him, and all because she believed he had gallantly come after her. Dropping her head between her hands in her lap, she moaned and thought, 'I'm doomed! I've become my worst nightmare. I'm one of them…one of those swooning harem devotees, reacting to his chivalrous deeds.' The flushed woman raised her face toward the fire and held her cheeks in her palms in horror. What was happening to her? She had to snap out of it. She was not like the other women, she argued with herself. She was nothing like them. Other women blindly accepted the image d'Artagnan was; she was falling for the real d'Artagnan, the man behind the image.

But who was the man behind the image? Jacqueline had suspected from the start that he truly was noble; he just had a gross misunderstanding of women. And could she blame him, with the way females seemed to throw themselves at him. How could the man have a real relationship with one of them, when he couldn't trust their intentions? She saw how they flirted with him and wanted his larger-than-life image, rather than companionship with the real man. Thus he indulged in their affections, but took care not to give his heart to any of them. Jacqueline removed her head from her hands and looked at the ground before her. A real relationship with d'Artagnan was what appealed to her, not the image. In truth, it was the image that kept getting in the way.

Returning with another flask, the gallant man looked at Jacqueline and noticed her sullen state. Worried that she was not feeling well after being exposed to the icy river, he asked, "Are you all right?" He crouched beside her and felt her forehead for signs of a fever.

Brushing the touch of his hand away, she looked into his lively eyes that showed his genuine concern and gave him a weak smile. She studied the features of the man she had just given serious thought to, and reached one hand over to lift her mug up between them for him to refill. "I'll be all right," she assured him, somberly. At least she hoped she would be. Right now, she felt the need to put some distance between them. "Let's eat," she said, diverting his attention away from her.

Her suggestion proved successful. D'Artagnan had not eaten since breakfast and Jacqueline had only eaten a couple of bites of bread before their flight from Collette's father. Both were so ravenously hungry that when they finally got to the food on the platter, they hardly said a word until the last of it was gone.

With every morsel eaten, the nearly dry excursionists made do with the light gear they had for bedding down. Jacqueline took the opposite side of the fire from her partner. She intended to keep an arm's distance from the man tonight, or at least she would keep a campfire's distance in this case. They had slept side by side before, but somehow, the uncomfortable young woman felt this was a different circumstance. She had been out to meet her brother when d'Artagnan joined her the last time. This was their free time and they had chosen to spend it together. For some reason, the last time they were together, she had not questioned his warmth. But this time she was wrestling with thoughts regarding the man. Her feelings made Jacqueline uneasy and she did not want to give him any ideas to make things worse.

Spreading his blanket out, he stopped to raise an eyebrow at Jacqueline. "Wanna hear some stories?" d'Artagnan suddenly suggested.

"Stories? What kind of stories would you be telling?" Jacqueline piquantly inserted and frowned while laying out her own makeshift bed.

Sitting cross-legged on his freshly lain groundcover, he moved around to make himself comfortable. "I recall you being interested in my father's stories. I suppose I could suffer myself to tell a few of them for your sake." He lured her in with an offer he knew would appeal to her.

"Your father's stories?" The tempted listener looked over at him suspiciously from her hands and knees position. He had made it clear before how much he loathed hearing tales of his father's exploits. And now he wanted to tell them? She was about to say no, but her curiosity got the best of her. She stopped fussing with her bedding and naturally reverted to sitting in a lady-like manner because of her dress. Skeptically, Jacqueline asked, "I thought you couldn't stand listening to your father's stories?"

D'Artagnan made a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, "Why not? No one knows them better than I do." He glanced at the charming sight of her feminine pose to see if she had taken his bait.

Jacqueline studied him for signs of any flippant intentions. Unsure of where he was taking this, she carefully treaded by asking, "You would do that for me?" Ultimately, she felt she could not resist his offer.

He was pleased to see her let her guard down. "Sure." D'Artagnan slapped his palms down on his knees. "I recall a couple of them to be pretty good for campfire telling." He loved having her undistracted attention.

With softened, eager eyes toward him, she readied herself to hear one of his father's adventures.

Content that he had her full devotion, he went into great detail about the time his father, along with Porthos, Athos, and Aramis had wandered into a ravine full of wild boar in the middle of the night. The four men had nothing but their muskets, rapiers, and the pale moonlight to aid them in their defense against the savage beasts. Since they were in hiding from the Spanish, firing muskets was out of the question, so they proceeded to raze the beasts with fist and sword. All said and done, d'Artagnan related how they claimed to the last, that it was by far the most invigorating melee the Spaniards had given them to date.

The son of the legend looked across the fire to witness Jacqueline's intensified captivation. "Are you scared?" The cad's bounder-ish grin was illuminated by the flickering glow of the campfire.

Not realizing she had been holding her breath, she released her lungs and breathed in deeply before answering him. "No. Of course I'm not scared." Jacqueline sat up straight, still with legs extended to her side, and threw back her shoulders. She was determined not to give d'Artagnan the satisfaction of knowing that the thought of wild boar in the French countryside _had _crossed her mind the moment they decided to stop for the night. The ruffled woman would not let him know he had even come close to fraying her emotions. That might lead to more harassment, or even worse, prompt an invitation for her to seek the security of his side when they slept. Wild boar scared her all right, but there were other things frightening her as well. Changing her mind about wanting to hear any more stories that would give her unrest, Jacqueline surrendered to the thought of sleep. "We really need to get some rest if we're going to get up early to head back for the garrison."

"Are you sure?" he asked, pulling back in surprised questioning. He had not expected her to want to turn in so soon. Leaning forward again, with a renewed grin, he enticed her. "We could stay up a little longer and talk about something more pleasant…let's say, like where you'd like to go on our next date."

Jacqueline's mouth flew open in shock. His change of subject had succeeded in making her forget her fear. Now she was piqued. "First, I don't recall this actually being a date. Second, if it were, it would be the last one after…"

"All right, suit yourself." d'Artagnan interrupted whatever it was that she was going to say with forward-raised palms, to put a stop on it. He could pretty much imagine what it would have been. "I get the message. But, still, you have to admit, you did have a good time." He knew he could always dispel Jacqueline's temper, after he had pushed her too far, by voicing a reconsidering thought.

His quieted companion glinted at him, and resisted giving him the satisfaction by admitting she had actually had a grand time. Unavoidably, at his mention, the events of the day replayed in her mind with their influx of emotions. The mistaken waste pit for the gravesite mishap with the farm girl, although a damper on d'Artagnan's chivalry, had been hilariously ironic to the adventure loving woman. There was the getting lost and soaked in the freezing river, but, the scenery had been enchanting. Plus, she had enjoyed him telling his father's story, despite his timing of it to be just before sleep. Every minus seemed to have its plus attached; much like his flippant personality. But each seemed to complement the other to make up this endearing man, whom she was finding very exciting to be with. Deducting that he too, had just reviewed the events of their meandering, she found herself reciprocating his smiling face as they shared a moment of light laughter. No, she thought, guardedly, she better not give him any more ideas to advance on. Jacqueline lowered to her side on her bedding and insisted, "We need to get some sleep." Looking at him for a short moment, she finally requited, "Good night, d'Artagnan."

But d'Artagnan didn't look like he was quite ready to give up for the night. "Common Jacqueline," he pleaded, sweetly, "just a little longer."

The besieged female thought of how much he sounded like a child pleading for just one more bedtime story. She turned her head downward toward her blanket so she could not see his begging features.

He lowered his voice and rallied her emotions, "Are you sure you don't want to hear about the time snakes got into my father's bedding on Malta?"

"Snakes?" Jacqueline disturbingly scrunched her face without opening her eyes. That was one thing she hated more than wild boar. Snakes were rare in France, but the only formidable one indigenous to the French countryside was the poisonous adder. Especially during this time of year, in the cool evening, snakes looked for burrows, rocks or just about anyplace warm to bed down in for the night. The last thing the unnerved woman wanted to contend with was a poisonous snake bite in the middle of the night. "D'Artagnan, why did you have to mention snakes?" Jacqueline moaned.

Still sitting upright on his blanket he leaned forward toward his bedded companion. "Scared?" D'Arganan responded smoothly.

"No!" The denying woman determined forcefully. "And d'Artagnan, would you please stop it! Now, go to sleep!" Jacqueline hastily turned to lay flat on her back and closed her eyes. She was sure she was not going to fall asleep any time soon after the mention of snakes, but, she was convinced it was better for her to pretend to be asleep, just to keep d'Artagnan from bringing up anything else for her to think about. Oh, why did he enjoy doing this to her? She finally heard him rustling to lie down. 'Good,' she thought, 'now I can just sleep these fearful feelings off.' Sighing deeply, she tried to relax.

After a few silent moments, a mysterious echoing sound rose from across the river. Jacqueline's nerves tensed. 'Great,' she thought, 'just what I need to add to the thought of slithering snakes and wild boar.' Knowing d'Artagnan never missed an opportunity, she braced herself for his next comment. When it did not come, her curiosity got the best of her and she could not resist spying on him to see if he was finally settling down. Turning her head just enough to see where he lay, she opened her eyes just a slit. When she saw him gazing back at her, she quickly shut her eyes and returned to her back. He had been lying there on his side, reclining on his elbow with head propped up in hand watching her the whole time with his caddish grin. 'How incorrigible,' she exasperated in her thoughts!

'Why do I feel like such a magnet being drawn toward this man?' she questioned herself. She had tried digging her heals deep on solid ground to hold her distance from him, but the more she resisted, the more she was drawn. Her struggle was becoming overtaxing. She wanted to repel him from her thoughts, but it was no use. She adored him. And like the fear that grasped her after the recanting of his father's story and the mention of snakes, the realization of her feelings toward him frightened her as well. All at once, Jacqueline realized that in the silence she had pathetically begun conversations with herself over the man again. Unable to contain herself any longer, her tension released in quiet laughter. "All right, you win!" Jacqueline resigned. "It doesn't look like I'm going to get to sleep anytime soon. Let's stay up a little longer and talk." Thinking it was better to face her fears, the relinquishing companion rolled to her side to mirror d'Artagnan's position.

His deep brown eyes played the flicker of the campfire that lay between them. "So where do you want to go on our next date?" He raised the question again, along with his familiar caddish grin and raised brow.

Keeping her gaze on the fire in his eyes, she gently repelled his advance by changing the subject. "Got any more good stories? Preferably none about wild animals and especially none about snakes! Snakes give me the creeps."


	5. Chapter 5

**Woke Up, Dreaming**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 5

More Fireside Stories

D'Artagnan's grin grew wide at Jacqueline's agreement to stay up longer. "All right, you want another story." He paused to consider, as if accessing his memories for a tale worthy of telling. With a twinkle in his eye, as if finally finding the experience he was looking for, he cleared his throat and began. "It's not exactly my father's story, but my father is in it," he teased. "So you should be content with that." The gleaming man shot his lovely listener a quick glance just in time to catch her rolling her eyes to his last comment.

He went on. "It's one of my personal favorites about the time my father came barging into the house in the middle of the night..." D'Artagnan paused for a moment of personal reflection and frowned. "Why does my father always show up in the middle of the night?" His brow rose at the thought.

Sitting up again, in a crossed-legged position, d'Artagnan energetically returned his attention to Jacqueline and his story. "Anyway, he came barging into the house along with Athos, Aramis and Porthos. Because of the disturbance being in the middle of the night and it being dark, my mother thought they were robbers who had broken in, or worse." His voice lowered in emphasis with the element of suspense. "So she plants me beside my bed upstairs and puts a musket in my hands." Once again d'Artagnan interjected a personal note, "That thing was huge for an eight year old." He estimated with outstretched arms at the size.

Still reclined on her side, Jacqueline watched admirably as his face became animated with his recollection. This was her companion's first-hand recant of his boyhood memory with his father. The envious woman could not help think how blessed he had been to be the son of such a legend.

D'Artagnan continued, fully engrossed in his telling. "My mother left me with the instructions to shoot anyone on sight who wasn't supposed to be there. And she ran off downstairs, leaving me to wait in my bedroom by myself. Well, my mom got so excited at seeing my father return that she forgot that she left me upstairs. I'm hearing all these raised voices downstairs and all I can think is, 'my mom told me to shoot anyone who wasn't supposed to be there.'"

Jacqueline noticed that he looked at her with the exuberance of a young boy, as if the memory had been from only yesterday. If his father's stories had been told with half the energy and endearment as d'Artagnan's, she could see why people loved to hear them.

"To make a long story short," he finished, "I come downstairs waving this humungous musket and I say, 'Mom, do they belong here? Is it ok if I don't shoot them?'"

By now, the two were light with laughter as the animated story-teller choked on. "Uncle Porthos looks up at me and booms out to my father—" and d'Artagnan went on, imitating a mock Porthos' voice "'—D'Artagnan, please tell me you brought something home for that young man of yours holding us at gun point.' Between the shock of them seeing me there holding this oversized weapon and Uncle Porthos' quick wit, a roar of laughter went up in that house that was enough to warrant the scorn of all the neighbors."

Calming down from their rolling laughter, but still in the lightened mood of his story, d'Artagnan shook his head. "I'll never forget the look on my mother's face as she sat there listening to my father and my uncles tell her their stories. Her face glowed." If the young storyteller had not been so distant in thought just then, he would have seen the glow on Jacqueline's face at hearing his own story. "My mother loved his stories," d'Artagnan stated, as though he could see the entire memory play out before him.

Suddenly, returning his thoughts to the present, the brown-eyed man looked up into Jacqueline's captivated eyes and spoke what was on his heart, "I never thought about it before, but I think that's why my father used to tell his stories." Looking away again, he added, reflectively, "My mother would sit for hours and listen to him relate to her his far off adventures. I guess it made her feel more a part of his life that way. And he never tired of telling them to her either…It was their little routine whenever his travels managed to lead him home." He gazed into the fire, deep in thought, as if entranced.

Still staring into the flames, he continued, "And I'd sit there whenever my father and the others came to town and listen to them. They'd tell and retell those stories so many times that I had them memorized. I never saw the enchantment in it that they did. I dreaded those times when all that mattered to my mother was my father. He was larger than life to her. I could see it in her eyes." D'Artagnan's voice trailed off.

Jacqueline tried to reconcile this rare side of d'Artagnan to the man she thought she had known. Could this be why he resented his father so much? Did the recalling of his past resurface unpleasant memories he didn't know how to deal with? As a simple farm girl, she had known such a different childhood. She had close and fond memories of both her parents and brother, who loved her. Maybe she had not been the most understanding of d'Artagnan's feelings toward his father. It had been just him and his mother most of the time. Then, when this stranger he called father showed up in their home, his mother and everyone else seemingly abandoned him and clung to this man. Jacqueline's heart went out to him and she wanted him to know she was there for him, should he want to talk about it. "How could a child understand such things?" she gently spoke, intruding upon his thoughts with her consolation.

Realizing his lull, he looked up at Jacqueline and tried to sound more upbeat. "I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be telling you a pleasant story." He seemed apologetic.

In a combination of wondering what made him delve so deeply on his parent's relationship and not wanting to see this revealing side of the man she was beginning to understand recess, Jacqueline treaded with a softened voice, "Your mother really loved him, didn't she?"

"Yes—" he nodded his head in confirmation and looked directly at her "—I guess she did."

Connecting in thought, the mesmerized pair got lost in one another's gazes for what seemed like an eternity. Each of them wondered just what kind of relationship they had with the other. Each wondered if they would ever breach the silence between them; neither one wanting to take the risk of losing what little they thought they had.

D'Artagnan was the first to speak, "Anyhow, you wanted to hear a story, and now I've rambled on." He decided to play it safe and diverted the issue.

"No. D'Artagnan, it's all right." Jacqueline relayed her feelings to him with a smile. "Thank you for sharing it with me. I mean that." She watched the man she could honestly call her best friend return her sentiment over the flickering light of the campfire. She shyly wondered if her face lit up in the glow of the fire the way his mother's had when she looked at his father.

"Maybe we'll have stories to tell our own kids one day," d'Artagnan said presumptuously, lightening the mood. "I bet this adventure today would qualify as a good tale to tell. Don't you think?"

Jacqueline suddenly felt the heat of the fire intensify at d'Artagnan's inference of them having their own kids one day. Why did he always do that with her? She shook her head in silent disapproval of his overstepped liberties, and abruptly dispelled their conversation by dropping from her reclined position to her back with a scoff. There were no sacred boundaries with this man concerning her. One minute she could feel her heart going out to him and the next feel so personally intruded upon. "Good night, d'Artagnan," said the perturbed, but flushed woman as she closed her eyes to shut him out.

From the other side of the campfire she heard d'Artagnan's lilted voice, "That wasn't a no."


	6. Chapter 6

**Woke Up, Dreaming**

By JeanTre16

Chapter 6

New Dreams

Sleep finally claimed the two Musketeers. Even d'Artagnan had enough story-telling for one night and put his busy mind to rest. Jacqueline drifted off into a dream-filled slumber to the sounds of the crackling fire and distant nocturnal creatures.

Yet, as soon as Jacqueline slipped off into sleep, it seemed she found herself awakening to the pelting of raindrops on her prone figure. "Wake up, Jacqueline!" She heard d'Artagnan's muffled voice give command in the downpour. She stirred, but for some reason, was unable to rouse herself from her sound sleep. "Quick, Jacqueline!" She heard again. Still in a slumbering stupor and unable to think straight for herself, the sleepwalking woman obeyed his directions reflexively. She stumbled to her feet and drifted over toward her companion's location.

He quickly grabbed her and pinned her between him and the protective lea of a massive oak. Without saying a word, he drew his heavy grey and blue jacket over their heads like a canopy to shelter them from the rain.

Under his cover, she suddenly found herself close, face to face, with this caring rogue of her dreams. His thoughtfulness touched her and she found her attention drifting from the rain to his eyes. When the passing cloudburst ended, she hardly noticed. Standing in such intimacy, Jacqueline found herself tingling with a flood of emotion. Feeling herself in a daze, she closed her eyes and allowed d'Artagnan to draw her in closer and kiss her. Lost in the moment, all she felt was him pressing her tightly between him and the tree…increasingly so, to the point where she could not breathe.

Unable to draw air into her lungs, Jacqueline's eyes shot open. Shocked that d'Artagnan was not the sight that greeted her, she realized she had been dreaming again and their stimulating kiss had not actually happened. The sensation of being close pressed and unable to breathe was caused by a blanket that was covering her head. Tossing it off, she saw the man she seemingly shared such closeness with just moments before engaged in a fist fight with a big burley man.

Regaining his footing and breath from his last tumble, d'Artagnan noticed the blanket being pushed away from a startled Jacqueline's face. Keeping one eye on his opponent, and one eye on the rousing campmate, he rescinded. "Never mind, sleeping beauty, I'm doing fine without you."

A large man turned to see the baffled, freshly awakened woman staring at him. Without a word, he nodded and scowled at her with a grin.

In seeing the manner by which his assailant acquainted himself with Jacqueline, the male Musketeer frowned in his obvious distaste for the man. Acting quickly, he re-diverted the grinning man's attention back toward himself by hurling head-long into his stomach. In-between slugs, d'Artagnan taunted the large man, "I don't believe you're the lady's type." They pulled apart to circle one another again, angling for an opening in the other's guard. "She speaks in complete sentences—" with a quick tilt of his head he considered "—at least when she's awake. And besides, you're much too ugly," he insulted.

The young jeerer's provocation succeeded in removing their unexpected visitor's attention from Jacqueline and placing it on himself. The thug growled and bounded forward to engage him in a brawl.

Alarmed at the sight, Jacqueline did not wait for an outcome, but reached over to grab her rapier. Standing to her feet, the still sleep-laden woman balanced her footing and waited for an opportunity to assist d'Artagnan. At the opportune moment, when the strange man's back was toward her, she stepped forward and placed her blade tip against the small of his back.

The uncomfortable prick on his back side was just enough to halt his upcoming pounce upon d'Artagnan. He stopped frozen in his bent over position, hovering above her grounded comrade.

"You!" she yelled sternly to the crouched over brute. While still shaking off her sleep, she ordered, "Put your hands up where I can see them." Jacqueline was always cocky in the morning, which explained why she always fared so well in her morning drills with d'Artagnan. But this morning, in particular, she was extra irritated for being jolted from her sleep in such a poor manner. She simply was not going to put up with this intruder's nonsense.

When the startled man turned to see the unabashed assurance in which she held the sword to his back-side, his round face showed genuine reconsideration of his options.

"I believe you were just about to leave," she strongly suggested with raised chin.

Something in the glint in her eyes put the fear in him that it was not past her, in the state she was in, to do him serious injury. Realizing his disadvantage in the predicament, the man slowly stood straight and put his hands up in surrender.

Momentarily distracted by the woman's interjection, the surrendering man was unprepared for d'Artagnan's sudden maneuver and was knocked off his feet. The grounded man had placed his boot in the burley man's chest and flung him over his head to the ground beyond him. For the next few minutes, the two swirled around and around in the dirt, wrestling for superiority over one another.

Jacqueline watched, unable to lend assistance without possibly hurting d'Artagnan in the process. Impatiently, she blew a stray strand of hair from her face and stood there with her rapier lowered, awaiting a chance to interject again. His insistence on fighting hand-to-hand, instead of arming himself was the kind of risky behavior that drove her crazy. She was concerned that he could have more than his male pride hurt if things went badly. And here they were, miles away from any help. Watching him rough-handle the man, made her wonder why d'Artagnan wasn't satisfied with merely running the man off, he had to slam him around and make sure he was thoroughly humiliated. Sometimes she wondered if brawling was just his way of letting off steam from the circumstances in his life he couldn't grab and pummel.

D'Artagnan regained his feet when his opponent had been thoroughly beaten. Wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, he jeered, "I told you she wasn't your type." Finding his own rapier, he removed it from its sheath. Again his wit was perked. He looked the man over and addressed him with attitude, "Apparently you've come to a sword fight with only your fists…and slightly outnumbered." D'Artagnan looked around to emphasize that the only other person there was his sword-bearing female companion. "That doesn't sound like very encouraging odds."

The captive looked back and forth between the man and woman sword wielders. Slowly standing to his feet, he kept both of his hands raised to acknowledge that the scales were not tipped in his favor.

D'Artagnan seemed to know what Jacqueline was thinking, and he agreed that they did not want to arrest this bandit and drag him all the way back to Paris. In his nonchalant way, he encouraged the man to leave. "I enjoyed our little morning workout. It was so kind of you to drop in. Now, if you don't mind, the rest of our plans for the day don't include you." He then gestured toward the woods with raised sword.

Jacqueline was relieved to see d'Artagnan urge the man to take off, especially since the stranger had witnessed her as Jacqueline and not Jacques. She didn't even want to begin to figure out how she'd explain that one to Captain Duval if they brought this criminal in. "Go," she said, when he looked back in hesitation at the sight of her holding her sword. She gestured him with her blade and an accompanied jerk of her head in the same direction her partner had bid him to go. "Leave, and don't come back or we won't be so generous next time."

The large man lowered his hands and retreated into the woods, scurrying like a defeated animal with his tail tucked between his legs.

With their early morning visitor gone, Jacqueline's attention returned to d'Artagnan with a sigh of relief, and then noticed for the first time that he was injured. "You're bleeding," she said with concern as she slipped her rapier safely away. She wondered why it seemed he never got as much as a scratch on himself while he was with anyone else but her. Actually, he had received his worst wounds because of her, when she had been protecting the dishonest Charles II. It was a memory she wasn't proud of, that she had fallen for a man that had used her so sorely. And d'Artagnan had suffered for it…suffered for her.

Wiping his mouth, he trivialized it, "It's nothing. I'll be all right. Let's get packed and out of here before our new friend changes his mind and comes back." He turned to begin cleaning up their campsite.

"No." She stopped him. "You're hurt. Let me see that." Jacqueline insisted. While he impatiently waited, she found a cloth in her pack, grabbed her water flask and drew near to examine his bloody, swollen lip. Maybe she was going overboard with this, but without being able to explain it, she felt partly responsible. Maybe it was the fact that she had been sleeping while he had been dealing with their intruder.

As he allowed Jacqueline to dab the cut on his swollen lip, he asked, "On the note of you being so deeply concerned about me, may I ask, what made it so hard for you to wake up?" Waiting for her response, his eyes played over her accentuated feminine figure in their close proximity to one another. It was only on rare occasions he was able to see her in a dress, and even rarer for him to be this close to her while she was in one. He seemed to be enjoying this moment with her 'delicate' side, despite his injury.

Looking hesitantly at him, she overruled his question. "Stop talking and hold still, you're making it difficult for me to see." She noticed how he was looking at her, and it made her feel nervous. Fighting the inward battle of wanting his looks, while not wanting to be just another woman he looked at, she concentrated on what Siroc had taught her about inspecting a wound.

He pulled her hand down from his mouth. "Stop avoiding the question," he said. "You're the one that's being difficult." He looked at her point blank with his statement.

Jacqueline could tell that he wasn't going to let this one slip. But she wondered just what she could say that wouldn't betray what was really going on inside of her. The other option was to just tell him. No! She quickly put that thought aside. There was no way she was going to do that.

Seeing that she may be willing to talk, he pressed on, gently. "I tried calling you, throwing water on you and even tossed a blanket over your head, but nothing seemed to wake you up." He paused to read her facial expressions.

"Oh?" she said, as if having no idea what he referred to. Taking a deep breath to quell her panic, she raised the cloth again to dab his still bleeding lip. He was the only one she knew that had a way of making her feel boxed in; he was the only one who knew her well enough to have that affect on her.

Pushing her hand tenderly aside, he could tell she was trying to hide something from him and was avoiding the subject. Lingering his eyes on her appearance, he backed off slightly with a curious look of growing suspicion. Through his puffy lip, he managed to don his infamous, mischievous grin, and prodded. "I'm wondering why you took so long to wake up. Were you dreaming?" He eagerly assessed her surprised response as a sign that he had been right. Despite the pain, he was unable to hold back a delighted smile as he further pressed her. "What dream could you have possibly been having that was so pleasant that you didn't want to wake up from it? Hmm?" His brow raised and his eyes became brightened with having found her vulnerability—Jacqueline had dreams. "Were you dreaming about me?" He risked his last question in his smooth, teasing manner.

Jacqueline felt her heart beat faster at the closeness of his discovery, but at the same time, she didn't appreciate him making fun of her compromised situation. Yet, despite the fact that she was too embarrassed to tell him, he was right. She had been dreaming, and dreaming about him. The fact that he knew so much about her was annoying and frightening at the same time. What would he say if he knew she had been dreaming about kissing him? The thought of him seeing right through her and the memory of the kiss made her flush. Not knowing how to deal with it, she simply stopped fussing over his swollen lip, abruptly placed the wet cloth into d'Artagnan's hand, and abandoned their conversation to begin packing.

Distancing herself from him was the only way she knew how to deal with her uncertainty. She had been jolted from her dream so suddenly that she hadn't even had time to think about what it meant, let alone expose herself to d'Artagnan's flippant harassments. She needed time to think and she needed to do it without him breathing down her neck.

This was the second time she had dreamt of kissing d'Artagnan. The first time she had been knocked partially unconscious and could excuse that dream as a delusional side effect of being hit on the head. But the dream from this morning had no such rationalization behind it. It's not that her dream had been unpleasant; in fact, she had to admit that in her dream his physical affection had appealed to her. Unexpectedly, she wondered if she would ever know what it would be like to kiss the real man. Strapping the leather pack back onto her horse, she paused. Maybe if he would stop being such a rogue, she confessed to herself, they would have the chance to find out.

D'Artagnan's eyes followed her as he absentmindedly dabbed his lip one last time with the cloth she had left in his hand. The pain at the touch made him wince in momentary distraction from the evasive woman. Putting the pain and cloth aside, a look of determination swept over him as his watchful eyes returned to their subject of interest. He was going to find out why his mention of her dreaming had made her want to avoid him. But in not wanting to raise her guard any more than it already was right now, he decided his interrogation would have to wait until they were on the road. In truth, they did need to be on their way in case their 'guest' decided to return for round two—of which he had no desire to partake in. He joined her in the silent, but hasty, gathering of their things.

While they packed in a hurry, a question began to burn in Jacqueline's mind that she could not put out of her thoughts. She had been shyly keeping her face away from him to gain the courage to say what she was feeling. Finally, the agitated woman could stand it no longer. In her frustration, she turned to face him and fumbled with her words. "D'Artagnan, about the other night…the night I wanted to kiss you. Why did you stop me?" Having forwardly spoken her mind, she tensely awaited his answer.

He looked at her, completely surprised at the shift in their conversation. So, this was what was bothering her. Now he was even more curious about her slowness in waking up. What could have been going on in the sleeping mind of Jacqueline? From his crouched position, where he had frozen, mid-shoving the platters from their evening meal in his pack, it was his turn to take a deep breath. Slowly and carefully, through his swollen lip, he answered, "Because you didn't mean it." He kept his response brief, not sure where she was taking this delicate topic. Suddenly it seemed like it was him that was hiding something as he resumed the collection of their gear.

Jacqueline took a step closer to d'Artagnan. "Why do you say that? How would you know what I meant?" She felt like pinching herself to see if this was a dream. She could not believe she was having this conversation with him. Alarms were clanging in her head on how dangerous it was to discuss this with him, but she felt that if she had an answer for that, she would be able to deal with the feelings she was struggling with.

"Because, I just knew that you didn't mean it," he confessed, uncomfortably. Still crouched, he let go of his pack and rubbed his cheeks with his hands in nervous contemplation of what he was about to say. Standing up, he mustered his courage to face her. "Jacqueline, do you recall earlier that day when I said I was going with the guys to experiment Siroc's…potion?"

She nodded, wondering about the strange turn in his countenance, and what his chauvinistic time with the guys that day could remotely have to do with her question.

For perhaps the first time since Jacqueline had met him, d'Artagnan did not look so confident, but rather like a man who was about to say something that made him feel extremely uneasy. He swallowed hard and then stammered, "Well, I sort of…sort of tried it on you that night." He slurred the last words and cringed to await her response.

And a response was certainly what he got. Jacqueline suddenly forgot all about her dream and became extremely piqued. "What!" She raised her voice in shock with the realization of what he had done. Immediately, the horrified woman stepped backwards to draw away from him. "How…dare you!" She was infuriated.

"Wait, Jacqueline, don't go jumping to conclusions." He followed after her to calm her down.

"Conclusions!" she squelched, still not being able to speak in complete sentences. "You planned to…you were going to…take advantage of me!" Angrily, she backed away from him again. She remembered how upset she had been the other morning when he had told her the 'guys' were planning to test the love potion. 'Pigs!' she had called them. And, yes, it bothered her to think d'Artagnan, whom she thought had shown great strides in his female relationships since her appearance, would even revert to such a behavior. This was the very reason she felt she could not trust him. She could not and should not fall for this flippant man. Finally, she was able to speak coherently, but certainly not with any less intensity. "I was upset enough as it was that you'd want to attract more 'women' trouble than you already did. And you had the nerve to try it on me!" She was furious at him.

D'Artagnan was thankful she wasn't wielding her rapier at that moment. "Jacqueline, just wait and hear me out. I had no intention of using it to attract just any woman. That morning there was only one woman I was interested in…still am interested in," he spoke convincingly, except for the last phrase, which came out with hesitation. Fully exposed and vulnerable, he stood there awaiting her response. He had come clean with his confession and decided she deserved nothing less than the entire truth. He was done hiding things from her or glossing over his blunders.

Jacqueline looked up at him in surprise, she was still angry, but his confession got her attention and she became still and quiet.

Seeing that she was listening and not throwing something at him, he continued, "But this certain woman seemed to be a little reluctant in being attracted to me…" He stood there looking at her before whole-heartedly launching into his apology, "I'm sorry, Jacqueline, I was wrong." He paused to look down at the ground, collecting the courage to say what he wanted to say. "So, the reason I stopped you the other night was that I realized that I couldn't and didn't want to rush something that was worth waiting for." He sighed, looking relieved, as though he had finally gotten a load off his chest.

At his confession, Jacqueline's heart pounded so violently and her thoughts skipped so wildly that it hurt to focus. Was she really hearing these words from him? She found the bark of the tree behind her with her hands, and leaned her weight back upon it. Closing her eyes, she sighed. Did he really care that much for her?

After a long silence, d'Artagnan spoke up sheepishly, "Are you going to just stand there or are you going to say something, anything…call me a cad, or maybe something worse?" Her silence was torturing this man who had never made his heart vulnerable to a woman before.

Opening her eyes to see his intense but warm gaze anticipating her response, her resolve to punish d'Artagnan for using the potion on her, melted. In their silent exchange, mutual feelings rushed into the open. A shared look took the worth a million words. He was offering his heart and she was saying she wanted it. Breathing deeply, in overwhelmed thought and emotion, she shook her head lightly. "Cad," she accused teasingly with a twinge of a smile.

Relieved to see her relaxed countenance and the receptive message it relayed to him, he looked off into the canopy of the trees and smiled in exhilarated release. But being afraid to step closer and re-stir her resistance, his gaze returned to her as he stated, "Yes, but, I'm your cad now." Not wanting to ruin their moment, yet wanting to relay that he genuinely wanted what was best for her, d'Artagnan stepped into action. "Let's get back to the garrison, they're probably wondering what happened to us about now." But, being d'Artagnan, he couldn't resist adding, "Besides the fact that my lip's a little swollen right now, we don't want to be standing here kissing if our friend decides to return." He spoke in his usual, cavalier tone, and gestured toward their awaiting horses.

Jacqueline's guard rose at his teasing words, but she cautiously reprieved it instead of reacting. 'Her cad,' she thought. If that were correct, she'd have to learn to deal with the many facets that came with his personality—and being a cad was certainly one them.

The couple thought it wise to ride a distance further before Jacqueline found a place to change out of her dress. Having resumed her personification of Jacques Leponte, they continued their quick-paced ride back to Paris, each enveloped in quiet thought for a time.

Jacqueline's mind raced, along with the speed of her horse. Did d'Artagnan really confess his intentions toward her to be of a more permanent nature? Did he just suggest that he too was serious about including her in his future plans? He had said he wasn't interested in other women, but was willing to wait for her attraction and the physical part that came with it. The other night around the campfire, he had told her that she would one day mean it when she kissed him. She knew he was right, and the thought comforted her instead of frightening her like it used to.

And in the expression of her response, as brief as it was, did she just convey the same toward him? She knew they weren't ready for a physical relationship. There were too many concerns in both of their lives to address. She didn't want to move too fast. But, she too, knew she could wait for him.

Before reaching Paris, the pair slowed their horses to reenter the city. D'Artagnan suddenly turned to Jacqueline. "So, where do you want to go on our next date?" he asked, breaking their silence and producing one of his caddish grins to accompany his question.

Jacqueline looked at him incredulously for his persistency in the same question over the past few days. But when she stopped to consider it, she thought, 'What could possibly top this adventure?' All she responded with was a brilliant smile and a heartfelt laugh. She knew he'd find something.

D'Artagnan joined in her laughter, and the two found themselves enjoying the rest of the way back to the garrison in light-hearted conversation.

One thing was for sure, the disturbing dream she had about her future the other night while on patrol was now a reality that was fading quickly. There was still much unspoken between them, but they both had acknowledged it was there. Jacqueline knew that whatever would come about as a result of this furlough in the country and the conversation they had that morning, things were not going to be the same between them. She had woken up from the dream of her childhood, and found d'Artagnan standing there in the new dream of her future. And Jacqueline could honestly say that life with d'Artagnan would be anything, but routine.

The end


End file.
